


I N K

by Drakklett



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: F/M, Love, Red - Freeform, Sadstuck, dead, ghost - Freeform, redrom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-02
Updated: 2012-06-02
Packaged: 2017-11-06 14:52:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/420122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drakklett/pseuds/Drakklett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eridan wakes up as a ghost ... With Feferi by his side.<br/>Eventually, the reanimated Prince bleeds through the paper and spills out his ink to her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I N K

The colour had vanished from both his vision and his emotions. He didn't feel like his normal, previous self, either. Eridan felt ... Hollow. He looked at his hands and saw ... Normal hands, normal rings, normal complexion. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Suddenly, he remembered ... The incodent. He lifted his coal-black sweater and saw the purple-stainted scar smeared across his torso. It brought that chilling memory back of his death, his assults, and ... His mistakes. The biggest mistake he could have possibly made. He may've lost his Kismesis, but did that matter? No. He never cared about that. He lost the love of his life, even though they never stretched passed Moirails.   
"Eridan," a familiar voice called. The voice sounded so sweet in his fins, but it lacked a certain light ... He couldn't put his finger on it. "Eridan, look at me."  
He did as he was told and moved his white, glassy eyes upward, not tilting his head an inch, not saying a word. It was Feferi ... Chest impaled and magenta, to his horror. He opened his mouth to question their where-abouts, but he locked down his voice. "We're dead, Eridan."  
Dead.   
Dead.  
That awful word echoed in his mind like a scream bellowing in the mouth of a cave. Eridan remembered when he used to adore that word ... He remembered how he used to wish it upon the feral surface-dwellers.  
But it doesn't matter now.  
Nothing does anymore, really.   
He directed his gaze to what was surrounding them. It seemed watery ... not unlike the inside of a bubble.   
So the Dream Bubbles do exist...  
"... Are you able to speak?"   
He could, but he couldn't find the will to. He felt like a slave. Enslaved by his own, colourless emotions. But hearing the deprived glee in her once tender voice kindled a colourful flame in his heart. Blue. His favorite colour that he wished didn't spawn first. Though this flame was a gentle one, he was certain it was going to burn through him like a forest fire.  
"Yes," he barely choked out, not bothering to clear his throat of the smoke, "I can."   
"It feels differant being dead, eh?" Small talk ... He nodded once, and not a single shake of his head more.   
He turned his body to face the ledge they were sitting on, positioning himself on his knees and folding his hands politely in his lap.  
He then began to write. But not with a pen and paper. He was writing a sentence, or two, or three. He was writing a speech.   
His mind was his paper, and his emotions were his pen. He simply - but slowly - shut his eyes and let the purple ink leak from that very same pen.  
It's not his fault that his pen had a hole in it.  
"... You're crying." He ignored that statement, letting the ink fall silently while writing.  
"Fef," he started, straining his dead vocal chords, "It's been so long ... But ever since then, I've felt so ... Forlorn. Each hour after I-... It's just been hell. I don't know what I was even thinkin'. I was such a fool ..."  
He wiped away the ink that stained his cheek.  
"My attackin' you was only instinct, an' I never intended to harm you - but that is absolutely no excuse for how I acted."  
He let his head sweep slowly from side to side, almost as if he was refusing to let his pen leak any further.  
"My feelin's ... They didn't die, too. Even though we only woke up less than ten minutes ago, I'm ... I'm sure I know how to compose this message."  
Feferi was sitting silently, her snowy eyes welling up with plum-coloured fountain ink. "When we were kids, an' we played outside together ... in the rain ... I was always filled to the brim with joy. I didn't care about the weather. It was almost imminent that my chest would expload with the glee you fed me. But everyone called me names for bein' as sensitive. ... I didn't want you to hate me too, so you never knew how full I was."  
Eridan turned his head, letting his jangled vocals rest for about five seconds before writing down more words, slowly and steadily. "Whenever you held my hand, or bumped my nose with your finger, it's like your hand accidentally pressed a button that turned off the machine that powered my melancholy. The feel of your hand cleared away the smog that carried lament and woe ... You're my life. You're ... My hope."  
The bubble shifted. This was their bubble now, personalized. It re-created The Land of Wrath and Angels, just for them. They were in a cathedral. The very same cathedral where Eridan met with Feferi when they were only two sweeps old.  
"I need you," he breathed, running low on colour and energy, but his pen overflowing with ink, bleeding through his paper. "Feferi ... Peixes ... I need you."  
"But I understand ... Entirely ... Why I would seem like such a rough draft to you."  
Eridan sat up, his leg muscles feeling empty and sending waves of an uncomfortable, fuzzy and dizzy feeling to his brain as he caught his balance. "I understand."   
He began to stride down the hall carefully, tracing each notch gently in the benches of the great structure. He felt relieved, but he didn't feel any better. It was an undescribable, unrelatable, un-understantable feeling of his.   
He opened the titanic doors, but he felt Feferi's eyes on his back. Turning to meet her gaze, he kept his head low - not high, like he used to. "Don't go," she started, beginning to suffocate herself. "Come back."  
The fallen Prince raised a mournful brow and strode back on over, not unlike a ghost. Sitting next to her once more, he gazed at the statue holding up the roof of the holy building. "You should care less," he breathed, "but I really am sorry ... and I'll love you forever." He averted his gaze from the statue, hoping he wasn't about to faint from all of this spilled ink. It stained, it did.  
"Eridan," Feferi sighed, "I want to love you too ..."  
His flame combusted. It burned so horribly. "A-and you are not toying with me...?," he barely coughed. Feferi shook her head, letting her ruby pink tears stream down her face. "I never would."   
Holding his face with her hand, she stroked her thumb along the rough skin of his jaw-bone, just under his fin. "Eridan ... I forgive you. And I love you."  
His lock was broken, and his small smirk appeared on his cold face after many sweeps of depression. "So it seems ... But I have to for-warn you ..."  
Feferi cocked her head to the side, curiosity tugging at her attention. "What?"  
"Well, I'm goin' to hug you, then kiss you ... And I'll never let go. Ever."  
She chuckled softly and ran her finger down the bridge of his nose to his lips, replacing it with her own black lips.  
And, as promised by the Prince of Hope, he never let the Witch of Life go.   
Ever.

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't work very hard on this, albeit the effort that seems to have been put in to it.   
> I hope it's okay for something as sloppy as this.


End file.
